Free A Pigeon Among the Cats by Josephine Bell Page B

couple she had chatted with in one of the Assisi shops. They had noticed the ambulance, too, and wanted to ask if she knew whether it related to their own party or some other.
    Gwen stalled. She felt she did not know them well enough to declare her knowledge. Let them get the shock from Billie. If they did not leave the tour at once she would have another chat with them the next day.
    Dragging herself out of bed the next morning Gwen was not surprised to find ‘Roseanna’s’ complement diminished, not only by the Banks family and four other couples, who had been placed in quarantine as contacts, but by three other faint-hearted travellers, who had been immunised but did not trust the foreign advice, still less the foreign hospitals if the advice was proved wrong.
    It was a subdued group that proceeded on its way to Florence. There was a short stop on the shores of the beautiful Lake Tragimento. Here Rose and her friends walked out along a short pier to take photographs of pale grey islands emerging from the morning mist. But none of this restored those universal fallen spirits. Nor, as the sun conquered the mist at last and they ordered coffee at little tables on the lake shore in the shade of trees could they drag their thoughts and fears from the late-night bombshell.
    Until Billie, who had been making a succession of telephone calls, came hurrying round her flock with a beaming face and fresh, relieving news.
    â€œThe tests on Miss Banks and all the others are negative,” she repeated over and over again. “She is much better. She will be leaving hospital in a day or two.”
    â€œAnd joining us in Florence?” asked Myra, when Billie reached the table where she and her friends were eating ices.
    Billie looked uncomfortable. It was a change from the face of gloom she had worn at breakfast and on the drive to the lake, but the question seemed to have ended her temporary euphoria.
    They did not press her, nor did Gwen ask any difficult questions.
    As for the rest, by the time ‘Roseanna’ reached Florence the Banks family and the other defectors might never have existed.
    The new hotel was one of a series of recent buildings lining a new road along the bank of the Arno river and about a mile out from the centre of the city. Buses just round the corner of the hotel ran frequently, Billie told them. But this afternoon, for those who preferred to leave the tourist crush and heat of the city centre, there was a trip to Fiesole, the little hill town with its church, old houses and ancient Roman theatre, baths and museum.
    Gwen was the first to see Owen Strong again. She had joined her table companions at Fiesole for want of something better to do. Their main objective in going there was to see the Roman remains, combined as they were with glorious views of the Apennines, since the excavations lay on the slopes behind the church.
    Owen was in the museum peering at a collection of Etruscan pottery in a tall case. He could see the coach party in the glass of the case as they walked into the building, so he did not turn but waited to see what they would do. Particularly Gwen. He hoped his entirely open approach this time would shake her. And fox the three old witches, as he now called them to himself.
    He was only partially successful. For one thing he had not reckoned on Gwen’s temper, though by now he should have done so. She was furious at seeing him there, in open pursuit of herself. She said loudly to her friends as they all drew near, “Why, isn’t that Mr. Strong? Looking at those red and black vases? I’m almost sure of it.”
    They were just behind him now; he could not pretend he was not aware of them. So he turned slowly, allowing a surprised smile to twist his face into that of an amiable clown. The sight, though by now familiar enough, had its full effect upon Mrs. Lawler. Oh damn, she thought miserably. Memory, never yet more than half submerged, carried her back